


The Dusk Slipped Through the Door

by Filigranka



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen, ToT: Chocolate Box, ToT: Treat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Ginko spends some time in Shinra's house, again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [higuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/higuchi/gifts).



> Higuchi, I hope you enjoy! I've tried to imitate the atmosphere of the series the best I could. 
> 
> Beta-ed by wonderful B. - thank you!

He was getting old – no, it was about time to admit, at least to himself, that he was old. Living in harmony with mushi could lengthen your lifespan and preserve your strength only for so long. And he had lived for a long, long time. Seen things. Been places. Lived through... well, enough to not remember the details. Only the serenity and calmness of feeling the mushi’s – whole world – existence as one entity. And himself as a minuscule part of that – nothing more than the smoke from his pipe. Nothing less than a king or a mountain.

And he expected no more than a place to lay his head and a cup of tea – boiling water would be enough, really – coming to Shinra’s house. Maybe a tale, if Shinra would be willing to share one.

He surely didn’t expect enthusiasm that great. Shinra was a man now, tall, tanned and a little muscular even, but his laughter sounded very young, almost boyish.

‘Ginko!’ he exclaimed. ‘I didn’t believe when you’d written you’re coming, I finally could thank you properly—‘.

‘And get back our cup, you thief,’ added Renzu – well, mushi-Renzu – somewhat chilly.

He could say it wasn’t real coldness, though. Playful teasing, more likely. For what he knew, mushi did not age – she should still be that young girl who had walked down the forest path and drunk with mushi.

In theory. In practice – he wasn’t sure. Through all those years she lived and observed, invisible and unnoticeable. She learnt and loved, loved deeply. And she had been, at the beginning, a part of a human woman. That was not a usual mushi.

Maybe, just maybe, Ginko should admit to himself that he’d wanted more than just a sip of tea and a story, too. An interesting case, for example. Or maybe a closure to one.

‘Such a vigorous grandma...’ he drawled, taking a huff of his pipe.

Shinra laughed.

‘I know, right? We decided I would be treating her like a sister. It’s less... embarrassing this way.’

‘And less suspicious, certainly. I imagine even you have visitors.’ Ginko smiled. ‘Sometimes.’

Shinra nodded. Renzu smirked, half-shy and half-cocky.

‘Rarely.’

‘Well, now we certainly have one,’ stated Ioroi happily. ‘And we should prove what _perfect_ hosts we are.’

 

*

 

‘Quite good, I’ll give you that.’ Ginko lied on his back and stretched his muscles. ‘I mean, your hospitality.’

‘Quite good!’ exclaimed Renzu in almost comically overdramatic tone. ‘I bet it’s the best tea you’ve had in months!’

‘My cooking is really good, too,’ offered Shinra.

‘It’s easy to think so if there’s no one to complain. Renzu doesn’t eat, does she?’ Shinra’s elbow hit his ribs. ‘Ouch. I’m not saying it was bad. No need for violence.’

Renzu huffed and sat closer to them. In the whimsical light of the fireplace her eyes looked very, very old. Unsettling in such a young face. But Ginko’d seen stranger things.

‘Story-time, then?’ There was impatience in Shinra’s voice, raw, rash and still very, very young.

‘Story-time, then.’

 

*

 

Five cigarettes turned to ashes later, Ginko straightened his back and yawned unceremoniously. Shinra understood, wished him “g’night” and went to his room. Renzu sighed, cast Ginko an angry look, and went out, too.

Mushishi stayed alone. Or rather – without humans. Mushi, as per usual, were everywhere, climbing the walls, hanging from the ceilings, floating through the air, and Ginko smiled, closing his eyes.

He didn’t drift to sleep immediately. He thought about the Iorois for a while, recalling the stories he had told them that evening.

He had talked about people he had met, about their lives and jobs, their emotions, affairs and arguments, their strengths, their softness, their vicious weaknesses. He hadn’t talked about mushi much – for that two, he’d figured, mushi was an everyday thing, something known, ordinary and boring. What they didn’t know was normal life, life spent with others. They had been listening to his stories about humans with the intensity most people reserved for his “strangest mushi’s” tales.

They seemed almost hungry for knowledge about little trivial things like “how do other people boil the rice”, “with what they eat it”, “how other places look”, “how people in other places catch fish”, “how they hunt” or – that one made Ginko blush internally a little – “how the marriage ceremonies look” and “how it is to live as ‘man and wife’”.

Ginko _had_ seen more unsettling things – and that was life Iorois had chosen, nothing to be regretful about – and yet, falling to sleep, he couldn’t help feeling slightly melancholic.

 

*

 

The next day, Ginko insisted, was the Iorois turn to tell stories. They, of course, tried to convince him they didn’t have any – their life, as they painted it, was full of calmness and routine. And the mushi, yeah, but mushi surely weren’t interesting, like, at all.

‘It’s hard to imagine more boring creatures.’ Shinra sighed. ‘They simply... are. They’re just here, doing nothing.’

‘It’s hardly nothing,’ corrected Ginko gently. ‘People I told you about yesterday— People I had helped... could tell you that.’

‘Yeah, I suppose... but it’s hardly doing anything. The mushi simply live, floating through time and space, and sometimes, when they run into humans—’

‘ —or animals, or plants, actually, too.’

‘—into something, their existence causes that something harm. But it’s not exactly an action. It’s not like the mushi have any kind of will in that matter. They just exist, they same way as always. When humans... or other beings... pass through them, sometimes there are effects. But usually not.’

‘It’s not more interesting than rain or wind,’ concluded Renzu. ‘Who would like to hear the stories about rain?’

‘Well, in cities I visited,’ drawled Ginko, ‘there are people who are very interested in talking about winds, clouds and rain. They research them, just like I research the mushi. And,’ he added, seeing the pair’s curious look, ‘I’ll tell you about cities and weather-scholars only if you tell me stories about mushi. A fair deal, I’d say.’

‘Pfff! You’re the one to talk about fair deals? And (who was it) who took our cup, ha? Without a word!’

‘Renzu!’ Ioroi seemed embarrassed. ‘It’s not like I wouldn’t have let Ginko take it, had he asked. We didn’t need it anymore and—’

‘But he didn’t ask,’ Renzu pointed out angrily.

‘It was payment. I’m not in the habit of begging for payment for a job well-done. Besides,’ he added to placate them, ‘I don’t have it anymore. I traded it for a medicine I need to heal a girl in a village far, far away from here.’

It wasn’t a lie per se. More like a half-truth. He had come to that village to trade that cup to Adashino – and then he had healed the girl. The cup had been the cause of his coming and his coming had helped the girl, either way.

‘And this is another tale I could trade for some of yours.’

 

*

 

They told him – Shinra happily and with surprising vigour, once he found the stories really to Ginko’s interest, Renzu grudgingly at the beginning, and then with a hint of well-hidden pride – all their daily life. Their daily life full of mushi, which to them seem absolutely normal – even Shinra seemed to sometimes forget that his grandma, his “old” grandma, hadn’t seen the mushi and had been afraid of them.

Some of the mushi they described didn’t match any beings know to Ginko; some of the others acted in the most peculiar ways. And yet, perhaps the most fascinating was Renzu, looking and acting and feeling exactly like human.

Mushi could mimic the humans quite well, that had been known for ages. Ginko had seen a dozen of cases like that. But mushi-Renzu was an ideal copy, not only in features, but in heart. She cared about Ioroi with that fierce protectiveness people have towards their family. It was unmistakable – and she was Renzu, in that regard. She was Renzu in all but physiology. She didn’t age, didn’t need to eat or drink, didn’t bleed.

He didn’t know what would happen when Shinra died. Would Renzu continue to exist in this world, lonely and purposeless? Would she disappear, too, fulfilling her raison d'être? Would she metamorphose into another type of mushi?

Those were question some researches might find fascinating, yet Ginko preferred not to dwell on them too much. He was having happy, almost carefree time with that two, that mattered the most. He had seen too many people, either taken by mushi or simply born that way, who felt mono no aware too deeply and in every moment of happiness perceived only death. They were saddened by life itself and often found it too much to bear. If it was mushi’s doing, he could help. If it was an illness of body or mind, the help could come from doctors. But if the sickness came from the soul, nothing could be done. Ginko would rather avoid such fate for himself, so he was focusing on all those nice little moments in Shinra’s house.

They shared dinners, full of laughter and playful teasing. The hard daily work – well, perhaps not so hard on his part, but still “some daily work” – made the dinner taste delightful. The songs their murmured or sang full-voice during the work. The young, strong voice of Ioroi and his little, shy smile, like he wasn’t fully sure if his singing was any good. Renzu, whose voice was unexpectedly sweet, mellow and dreamy, and who seemed to focus more on flowing with the melody than pronouncing the words. The first cold night in that year, when Shinra came to him “searching for human warmth” – or rather, as Ginko suspected, human presence. All those seconds when sun, setting upon Iorois house, dressed the forest in green, red and gold and he and the Iorois were sitting at the veranda, doing nothing, just watching the sky and listening to the birds.

Such life was peaceful, at least. And Ginko recognised the value of peace – as something he would never be able to get.

So he gently reminded the Iorois he was going to leave them soon.

‘I need to reach the village in the valley before the first snow.’ He huffed a circle of smoke. ‘I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, I think.’

‘You can spend the winter here!’ exclaimed Shinra hastily.

‘We’re not afraid of the mushi,’ added Renzu.

Ginko couldn’t help but smile.

‘I know you aren’t. It’s not about you. I have... obligations.’ Sure, that wasn’t the perfect word; but it wasn’t worse than any other. Then as an afterthought, he added, quietly, ‘And miles to go before I sleep.’

 

*

 

He planned to set off before dawn – but Shinra and Renzu waited for him at the door, both visibly irritated .

‘You have the strangest habit of leaving without a goodbye,’ sighed Shinra.

‘We have to wake up at this heinous hour because of you.’ Renzu sounded less forgiving. ‘You have no shame.’

‘I suppose. But you shouldn’t be waiting for me, then.’

‘Naaah. We’ve a gift.’ Shinra drew a hand towards him. A little package, covered in plain grey paper, rested on it.

Ginko blinked.

‘And what is in it? I wouldn’t want to ruin you...’

‘As if you could.’ Renzu rolled her eyes. ‘It’s an eye, stupid. An artificial eye. Shinra drew it for you.’

‘It should let you see,’ explained the boy. ‘I mean... I’m not a priest or a sage, but I drew it with that intention. And my intention...’ His hand made a wide gesture, probably intended as nonchalant. To Ginko it seemed mostly uncertain.

But he knew Shinra’s power better than the boy himself. What Ioroi drew came to life, full stop. If he drew an eye for a blind man to see with – he would see.

His grandmother’s shadow came back from the dead, after all. For Ginko’s empty socket to see again seemed like little to no problem in comparison. And that was why he couldn’t accept it.

His voice was steady and gentle.

‘It’s a wonderful gift and I thank you both for it. But I wasn’t and never will be worthy. My eye... it was lost as a part of a bargain, sort of. It’s not fair— for me to see again, however cruel this may sound.’

Renzu looked perplexed.

‘You can’t refuse the gift! It’s bad luck, for you and for us!’

‘I’m not refusing. I’m just saying I couldn’t use its power. And I think it’s too dangerous to leave something of such great value to me – I’ll lost it, to be sure – so...’ Ginko paused, drawing a long breath; the Iorois looked at him suspiciously. ‘Could you, please, keep it safe for me?’

They were silent for a moment or two.

‘Suure,’ drawled Shinra finally. ‘But if it’s yours and we’re only the keepers, then you should visit us more often. At least once a year, I presume.’

‘Once in five years is doable.’

‘Once in two years or I’ll put this eye straight into you throat!’ Renzu, of course.

‘I could agree to once in three years and this is my last word.’ Ginko took his things and started walking down a path, chased by Renzu’s angry yelling.

‘Are you deaf? I said “once in two years”! Come back here, you coward, and bargain like a man! Is he deaf? Shinra, stop laughing! Immediately! I’m your grandmother, young boy! Shinra! And you, mushishi-san, next time you come here I’ll show you...!’

...and he might be an old, jaded man, but he was smiling.


End file.
